


Sherlock: Proposing (The Mycroft Holmes Way)

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was this thing on Tumblr; "Reblog if you want a fake marriage proposal in your ask". So I fake-proposed as Mycroft. And Gregory Lestrade responded. This is what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Proposing (The Mycroft Holmes Way)

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** So I randomly asked eris7713 on Tumblr to marry me (well, Mycroft asked), and eris7713 responded as Greg Lestrade. And then Mycroft replied, and Greg replied again, and this, this happened. So it's a one-shot in text format, with little bits of Greg and Mycroft's lives in-between. The Greg texts and parts are written by eris7713, I wrote the Mycroft, Sherlock and John parts, and we collaborated at the end.
> 
>  **Co-Written With:** eris7713
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot (which I co-own with eris7713), and make no money from this story.

_Dear Gregory,_

_I, Mycroft Holmes, promptly propose to you to be my husband/partner until death do us part, whether our deaths be of natural causes, murder, or *insert choice of death here*._

_If it pleases you, we will become husbands/life partners in either a marriage in a country that allows same-sex marriages, or a civil partnership in the UK, Australia, or another country that has civil partnerships._

_Please respond within thirty days or I will be forced to find another future husband/partner/or significant other to propose to._

_Do not disappoint me._

_\- MH_

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**What the bloody hell are you on about? Have you gotten into the wine again? Should I text Sherlock?**

**I won’t. He’d laugh... John, then?**

**Well, I accept.**

**\- GL**

 

\--

 

_Dear Gregory,_

_I apologise for my actions. After an incident at work I was forced to take painkillers and I wasn't alerted to my text until this morning. Anthea took a great deal of pleasure in pointing it out._

_I apologise for my behaviour, and please don't call Sherlock or John, as I'll never live it down._

_Regards,_

_Mycroft_

_P.S. I'm sorry, did you say you accept?!_

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**Painkillers?! What happened?**

**I didn’t in the end. Phoned your assistant instead.**

**That’s alright, Mycroft.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. Just playing along, mate. Didn’t want you out on the streets :)**

 

\--

 

_Dear Gregory,_

_There was an incident with a fellow head of government. The man didn't take kindly to my actions and decided violence was the only answer. It's times like this I'm glad I have an assistant like Anthea._

_Thank you, you have my deepest gratitude for not phoning Sherlock. God knows he has enough ammunition on me as it is. I'm sure Anthea apologised for my behaviour._

_Thank you again,_

_M_

_P.S. And what do you mean by, "out on the streets"? Are you suggesting I'd propose to just anyone? I DO have standards, Gregory._

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**I’m glad she was there too, then.**

**Only if Anthea doesn’t answer will I phone Sherlock. She did. But, I was just worried. That was very out of character for you.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. Well, you did send that message to me…**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_Me too, believe me. I would have been dead fifteen times over if not for Anthea's reflexes and intelligence._

_Yes, well painkillers tend to make me... slightly disturbed, I suppose you could say. Anthea has to lock me in my flat and take away all forms of communication to ensure I don't start World War III. Unfortunately I managed to text you before Anthea could confiscate my phone._

_\- M_

_P.S. Gregory, don't sell yourself short. You're a handsome, intelligent, kind-hearted man with a good job. Why wouldn't I propose to you?_

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**You think I could borrow her for a while? XD**

**Painkillers do put ya in a bad way. You never want to see me all drugged up….**

**WW3? *whistles* Minor position in the British government, my arse.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. Really?**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_Unfortunately, no, Anthea is my assistant and I do not wish to be without her. Of course, you could always ask her if she wants to switch careers :)_

_I think seeing you on painkillers might be an experience worth going through; people say all kinds of things they wouldn't normally._

_I swear, Sherlock doesn't know when to shut his mouth; I only occupy a minor position, I assure you._

_\- M_

_P.S. Of course, Gregory, you are a fine man and any man or woman would be lucky to have you as their partner. I myself enjoy your company and couldn't wish for a better friend._

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**Ah, well. Can’t say I didn’t try. I believe that she’d want to stay with you.**

**Donovan says I’m terrible to handle on painkillers. She says I swear like a sailor.**

**He’s only trying to get to you, Mycroft.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. Thanks Mycroft. You’re one of my best mates. You and John… Jesus, that’s sad, isn’t it?**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_I like to hope that Anthea wants to stay with me. Of course if she ever wanted to leave I'd let her, but she's very good at her job._

_I'd like to see that some time. I'm sure you're really very cuddly when on painkillers. You've seen Sherlock on painkillers; he enjoys shouting and being a giant arse, though really that's no different to how he normally is. John just goes a bit giggly._

_Sherlock enjoys teasing me, yes, it's part of our relationship. Just like I enjoy teasing him._

_\- M_

_P.S. It's hardly sad, Gregory. I have one friend; you. John is my brother's friend, not mine. So really you're far more popular than I am._

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**Well, that’s for me and Donovan to know and you to hopefully never find out. (Don’t try asking her, she’s sworn to secrecy).**

**And wasn’t that a sight to see. I’ve got a video of it on my phone just in case. Cheers me up on bad days.**

**Yeah I can relate. Me and my siblings are always trying to take the mickey out of each other.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. We’re just consumed in our work, aren’t we?**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_I have my ways. No information is safe._

_I have mountains of footage showing Sherlock and John on various types of painkillers. If they didn't want us to see it, they wouldn't get injured, now would they?_

_That's what siblings are for; to shout, hurl abuse, and always be there for you._

_\- M_

_P.S. Unfortunately, that seems to be the case. I've always got paperwork that needs filling out, and my signature. But I didn't have many friends growing up, so I'm quite used to it._

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**That seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?**

**Well, if Sherlock would just slow down and wait for back-up, it wouldn’t be a problem. But he never will, will he?**

**Though, you should show affection towards him more, Mycroft. You’re the only family he has.**

**John’s been pushing him to do the same. He’s been good for Sherlock.**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. For me, there was Karen, but the uncertainty of the job was too much. It’s lonely.**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_No one ever said life was fair. But, because I respect you, I'll leave that information alone._

_My brother, unfortunately, isn't in the habit of waiting for anyone, even John. He does enjoy getting right to the bottom of a mystery, regardless of the danger to himself._

_I do show affection towards him, Gregory, it just happens that you aren't around to see it. I find it difficult to express my emotions around other people and Sherlock is the same; it's a defence mechanism, I suppose you could say. But we do show each other we care when we don't have to put up a front for the people in our lives._

_John IS good for Sherlock, I will never disagree with that._

_\- M_

_P.S. I was saddened to hear about your divorce; you have my condolences. But as you said, the job gets to be too much, which is why I never married. That and I never found anyone I could love._

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**Heh. Don’t I know it. Thanks, though. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Curiosity and all that.**

**That is one argument that will always fall on deaf ears.**

**I've seen the little gestures. I can understand why it isn’t shown.**

**And he’s, perhaps, good for all of us.**

**-Greg**

**P.S. It was doomed from the start. Never? But your ring? I never asked... you’ll find someone, Mycroft. Even the British Government needs (and deserves) someone to go home to.**

 

Greg hit the send button and sighed. He looked despondently around his flat and back to his phone. Now that he knew that Mycroft was unclaimed, as it were, thoughts that he had quelled down at the beginning of their friendship dragged themselves back to the surface.

 _He_ could be the man that Mycroft came home to.

Greg shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. He would never risk the friendship of his one real friend. Because- he had to face it- John was only a friend because of Sherlock.

 _But the proposal text..._ his mind offered. Greg sighed and stood, heading into the kitchen to pull a beer from the fridge. There was no way he was prepared to deal with this right now.

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_I admit I'm as curious as the next man, if not more curious due to the nature of my job, but I wouldn't risk our friendship over something so small; I respect your privacy. If you wish to share something with me you'll do so of your own volitation._

_Believe me, I've spent more years than I care to remember trying to convince Sherlock not to indanger himself. At least now he has John Watson to take care of him._

_I do care about him, Gregory, and I'm glad you believe that. Too many people seem to think that I care little for my brother's safety. He's the most important person in my life, even if he wishes to ignore me._

_John Watson is definitely a good man, and good for us all._

_-M_

_P.S. As I said, I am sorry about your marriage. It's difficult to find someone who can put up with you and your job. No, my ring is merely a cover that I aquired early in my career. My preferences would have been detrimental to my career when I first started. Now it's easier to let people assume I'm married to a woman rather than answer private questions._

 

Mycroft sent the text and sighed, rolling his neck to work out the knots and kinks that built up from too much time behind a desk. He stood and stretched before heading over to the drinks cart, pouring himself a fresh scotch and taking a small swig.

He stood silently in his home office for a few minutes, enjoying the smooth texture of the alcohol burning down his throat. As was habit now, Mycroft went through the previous texts he'd received from one Gregory Lestrade.

They were more letters or emails than texts; long, in-depth, and always starting with his or Gregory's name. Mycroft missed the old days when a letter was the way to keep in contact with friends. Of course, with technology he didn't have to wait days to receive a reply; usually Greg texted back within 24 hours.

Mycroft smiled as he read over every text he'd received since that awful proposal. He still couldn't believe that he'd been so stupid to send a text like that to Gregory. He'd always liked Greg, yes, and maybe he liked him a bit much than was healthy, but that didn't mean he could send the man insane marriage proposals while doped out on painkillers.

Mycroft sighed and finished his drink, quickly pouring another and heading back to his desk. He had to stop thinking about Gregory; it'd only end in heartbreak.

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**You're certainly a better man than me. I'd be sorely tempted to look. Comes with the job, I suppose.**

**With John, Sherlock's gotten hurt less, that’s for sure.**

**As Sherlock says, they only "see". They do not "observe".**

**You agreed with me! I was RIGHT! Ha!**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. Ah, well. It’s for the best. You went through all the trouble for a fake ring? Why not just pretend to be single?**

 

Greg hit the send button as he quickly pulled on his jacket. On his way to the crime scene, he let his mind wander.

_"Preferences... assume I’m married to a woman..." What did that mean? Surely Mycroft isn't... but what if he is?_

'God, Greg, get a bloody grip. Either way doesn’t mean a "yes" for you. Try and forget it. You’d never be his type,' Greg muttered to himself.

Putting on a straight face, Greg got out of the car and walked to the scene.

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_I'm used to turning a blind eye to certain facts and information; part of my job, as you know. However, I would never betray your trust. You mean to much to me to break our friendship over something so trivial._

_And if Sherlock does get hurt, John's there to patch him up. If Sherlock let's him; we all know how my brother feels when people are trying to take care of him._

_Very true, Gregory. It's not that hard to see someone's life story when you look close enough._

_Yes, you were right, bravo :)_

_\- M_

_P.S. You'll find someone, Gregory, I'm sure. I was young when I first started so of course I pretended I hadn't found "the one" yet. But as I grew older my colleagues decided I needed someone. Those who didn't wanted me to join them in bars and clubs to look for women. Wearing a ring was easier than pretending to look interested in every beautiful woman who came my way. Now it's simply become a habit to wear it._

 

Mycroft sighed as he sent the text and leaned back in his seat. Across from him Anthea raised an eyebrow but didn't ask, knowing her boss would share whatever was going on if he chose to.

Well, Mycroft didn't want to share. He could count on one hand the amount of people who knew his preferences; Sherlock and Anthea (he didn't count the random men he'd slept with over the years, they never knew his name).

Sherlock and Anthea were also the only two who knew exactly how he felt about Gregory Lestrade. Well, Sherlock _suspected_ that Mycroft liked the DI a bit more than a simple friend. Anthea knew without a doubt.

Mycroft sighed again and rubbed his eyes. He'd been up far too long and still had four meetings about a large-scale plan that the government was putting together.

He slid further down in his seat and looked out the window, the rocking of the car lulling him. He couldn't help but wonder what Gregory was doing.

 

\--

 

It was halfway through Sherlock’s rant on who the killer was when Greg’s phone vibrated. Glancing at the screen and seeing that it was Mycroft, Greg excused himself to answer. He blatantly ignored Sherlock, not wanting to know if the genius had seen the silly grin that always spread across his face when Mycroft texted.

He grimaced. He _had_ to stop with that nonsense.

Reading the text quickly, and if he was honest, a bit eagerly, he was left more confused than ever. Or rather, more sure about Mycroft being gay.

"Pretending to look interested in every beautiful woman"? Please. Greg may have to call in Sherlock on a fair few cases, but he wasn’t completely stupid. The ball was in his court now, so to speak. He had to decide on whether to use this information and flirt, or keep their friendship.

He typed out his reply and rubbed his temples. This wasn't the time to have a social crisis. He decided to ignore it for now and returned to the bloody crime scene.

 

**Mycroft,**

**I’m definitely better with trying to figure out everyone’s secrets than turning a blind eye to them. You mean a lot to me too. I’d never dig up a secret at the risk of our friendship.**

**Ugh. Sherlock's like a bloody cat when trying to give it a bath. I’m glad John’s around. That means I don’t have to sneak into Sherlock’s flat to get him medical treatment.**

**I’m going to remind you that YOU said that I was right. I’m never going to let you forget!**

**\- Greg**

**P.S. I’m glad you’re so positive about my love life. I don’t know, Mycroft. I’m getting on in years, I’m hardly young… YOU? In a CLUB?! Now THAT'S something I’d pay to see! What an image! There had to have been SOMEONE who has caught your eye, Mycroft.**

 

\--

 

_Gregory,_

_Well, being a Detective Inspector, of course you're good at figuring out everybody's secrets. And you do it quite well, may I add. Thank you for that, Gregory, nobody has ever considered me such an important person to them._

_Thank God for John Watson. Sherlock is much easier to handle these days. He still gets into trouble, as you know, but I can trust John to take care of him when I'm unavailable._

_Feel free to remind me as often as you want, Gregory. You were right after all and I have no trouble admitting when I'm wrong._

_It seems one of us has to be positive about your love life, as you seem to have given up. You're hardly old, Gregory, and I do believe your colleagues have a specific name for you. "Silver fox", if I remember correctly._

_Unfortunately clubs weren't exactly my taste, even when I was younger, and I don't frequent them often. There have been a few people who have caught my eye over the years, but only one I'd consider putting any effort into spending time with. Unfortunately that cannot happen._

_\- M_

 

Mycroft re-read the text over and over again as he stood in his office. Anthea had just seen his Australian counterpart out, the woman having joined Mycroft for lunch after a meeting with the British Prime Minister. Now Mycroft had exactly 12 minutes until yet another politician joined him for yet another meeting.

Mycroft couldn't help but let his eyes drift over the word "people". God, could he get any more obvious? He always said or wrote "people" instead of "men". It was a habit that had been instilled when he'd attended boarding school as a boy, and later when he'd become a politician. Casually telling people that you specifically liked men had been hazardous back then, and still could be. Though society claimed to have changed, there were still far too many people out there who hated homosexuality.

Sipping from his cup of tea, Mycroft once again re-read the text before sending it. Gregory could draw whatever conclusions he wished. Mycroft wasn't about to "come out", so to speak, to the man he desired. He had no idea how Gregory would react. Anger, loathing, disgust, acceptance, indifference, lust... all were viable reactions.

Mycroft snorted. "Lust", yeah right. Why would Gregory want _him_? What did someone like Mycroft have to offer Gregory Lestrade?

Besides, he was enjoying these text messages far too much to ruin it now. He couldn't help adding little flirtatious commets every now and then. But if Gregory ever showed any discomfort, Mycroft would stop immediately. He was good at hiding his real feelings.

A tap at his office door brought Mycroft out of his thoughts and he turned to face his name-changing assistant.

'Mr Douglas is here to see you, sir,' the young woman said, tapping at her BlackBerry.

Mycroft walked back to his desk and sat, setting down his tea cup and pulling the necessary paperwork towards himself. 'Let him in, Marie.'

His PA nodded and disappeared, giving Mycroft a second to collect himself and forget about Gregory, focusing on work instead.

 

\--

 

**Mycroft,**

**At least someone believes that I can do my job, which is more than what can be said about my team...**

**I don’t know why I wouldn’t. You’re my best mate.**

**And John can take care of him when I'M not around.**

**My victory gets sweeter! Between the two of you, there’s hardly one argument I can win, so to be right for once is a great feeling.**

**Oi! I haven’t given up! In fact, I’ve got someone who has my eye. It’s just asking him out that’s the problem.**

**I know they do. It’s a bit weird... besides, dating in the workplace is always messy. That’s something I’d like to avoid.**

**Oh, but to see you in one...**

**What do you mean, "cannot happen"? Is he married?**

**-Greg**

 

Greg hit send and looked in his inbox again.

"... _any effort to spend time with. Unfortunately that cannot happen_."

That was the part that screamed at him and made his heart sink. All he wanted was for Mycroft to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.

Greg cursed as he sat back at his desk. The wooden surface was spilling over with reports, photos, and everything else to do with the current case. And half of Greg's mind was thinking about Mycroft.

'Christ, I’ve got it bad...' he muttered to himself.

 

\--

 

Mycroft gulped thickly as he looked over Gregory's latest text. It was late, just shy of three am, and Mycroft had the rest of the day and night off. His superiors didn't want to see him until nine am the next morning. It was fine by Mycroft; he needed the rest and could get up-to-date on the literary world. He'd been looking forward to reading J.K. Rowling's new book.

And now all of that seemed un-important because of Gregory's text.

" _is he married?_ "

...

" _IS HE MARRIED?_ "

Shit. Gregory knew. He'd seen through Mycroft's careful words to what the politician had been trying to say; he was in no way straight, he liked men, he. Was. _Gay_.

'Shit,' Mycroft groaned, flopping onto his expensive leather sofa. He shifted about, realising the thing was very uncomfortable, and sighed. So Greg knew, okay...

He hadn't sounded disgusted... of course there was only so much deducing Mycroft could do through a text. Maybe Greg was really disgusted and trying not to show it. Or maybe he had known the entire time and really didn't care. Or maybe-

Mycroft sat up suddenly and groaned when his head spun. Blinking rapidly to clear his head, Mycroft pulled out his BlackBerry and re-read Greg's text.

" _Oi! I haven’t given up! In fact, I've got someone who has my eye. It's just asking him out that’s the problem_."

Wait...

Wait.

WHAT?!

Mycroft re-read the words over and over until the little black characters started to swim together and make less sense. Gregory was... wait, _WHAT_?!

Gregory... Gregory Lestrade had his eye on someone... someone _male_.

Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat and his breathing came in short, shallow gasps. He stood quickly and practically lunged for his drinks cabinet, tugging out an expensive bottle of bourbon.

He downed a few mouthfuls before realising getting drunk wouldn't help. So he stood and leaned against his kitchen counter, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. Once he had control of himself he re-read Greg's text.

Okay, so Gregory had his eye on someone... someone male. That made Mycroft both hopeful and want to bang his head against a brick wall. It meant that Gregory was open to same-sex relationships. It also meant that he was already lusting after someone, or in love.

And that left Mycroft back where he'd started.

Mycroft rolled his neck and sighed. No, he had to be an adult about this. He had to show Gregory that he was accepting of this, and maybe give a little advice. And Mycroft realised he didn't want to lie anymore. Greg had been honest with him; Mycroft owned the other man the same thing.

So he took a slow sip of bourbon before placing the bottle back in the liqour cabinet and heading to his bedroom. He typed out the text before changing into silk pyjamas and brushing his teeth.

Once done he climbed into his large bed and settled back, BlackBerry clutched in his right hand. Mycroft took a deep breath and closed his eyes before sending the text.

 

_Gregory,_

_You're an excellent police officer, never doubt that. Your team is, for lack of a better word, young. Sergeant Donovan doesn't have the experience you do, and Anderson is little more than an idiot- I'm sorry, but I have to be honest. You're an amazing officer, and Sherlock doesn't work with idiots; remember that._

_Thank you, Gregory, that means a lot to me. I count you as my dearest friend, I hope you don't mind._

_Yes, well I was a bit lost in concerns to Sherlock before you showed up in his life. I slept easier at night knowing you were there watching my brother. And now John lives with him, and I sleep even better._

_I'll never deny when I'm wrong, Gregory (unless Sherlock is involved). You have every right to feel proud. And believe me, this won't be the first time you're right and I'm wrong._

_I'm glad to hear you haven't given up. Forgive me, but I wasn't aware you were... ah, interested, in men. Not that I have a problem with it, of course, but I'm amazed I didn't deduce that about you. I'm sure he'll realise what a lucky man he is to have your attention, Gregory. Unless, of course, he works with you; he doesn't work with you, does he?_

_You will never, ever see me in a club, Detective Inspector, so just put that thought right out of your mind._

_No, the person I'm interested isn't married. I suppose I should just admit to how I feel, and who I am, but I've never said the words, exactly, and I'm at a loss as to how to admit it. I'm not very good with personal feelings._

_\- M_

 

\--

 

Greg was still in his office, filling out paperwork while waiting for a lead (or a text from John saying that Sherlock had found the killer and was in need of an ambulance), when his phone buzzed.

He frantically grabbed it and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Mycroft’s name.

'Damn it,' he muttered as he opened the text, 'stop acting like an idiot.' Skimming the message quickly, Greg typed out his reply with a pounding heart.

 

**Mycroft,**

**Thanks. Needed that reassurance, with this new case and everything.**

**I tend not to mention my preference. Not because I’m ashamed, I just don’t particularly care, you know? If you had asked, I would have answered honestly.**

**No, we don’t work together. Too much leg work for him. We’re close though. I’m still trying to figure him out.**

**You? Not notice? Must have been distracted by my good looks and sharp wit.**

**That sounds like a challenge, Mycroft. I’ll see you in a club yet!**

**Just come out and say it, that's my advice. If he’s disgusted, then he’s not worth keeping around.**

**-Greg**

 

Reading it over again, Greg decided to hit send. The ball was officially in Mycroft’s court and Greg hoped that he hadn’t just made a grievous mistake. He thanked the stars when he received a tip on the killer’s whereabouts and leapt at the chance of getting Mycroft off of his mind.

 

\--

 

Mycroft had been called back into work ( _So much for a few hours off!_ he'd thought savagely when Anthea had called to get him out of bed) and was in the middle of a meeting when his BlackBerry buzzed. The Russian Government took a pause to turn and speak with his own PA, and Mycroft glanced at his mobile.

 _Gregory_ , he thought as he read the caller ID. His heart thumped in his chest and it was all Mycroft could do not to throw the man opposite him out the door. _This is getting ridiculous,_ he thought. _Wanting to drop work for a_ man _?_

Only it wasn't just any man; it was Gregory.

When the Russian Government finally left, Mycroft sat heavily in his chair and read over Greg's text, heart beat steadily increasing with every passing word. When he was done he took a minute to absorb the information Greg had given him before rolling his head and sighing.

For some reason the words "leg work" stood out and Mycroft had a strange feeling in his gut; he just couldn't put a word to it. Deciding to brush that aside, Mycroft read the text again.

" _You? Not notice? Must have been distracted by my good looks and sharp wit_."

... was Greg _flirting_ with him? No, he couldn't be... could he?

Mycroft frowned. Why did love always make it so difficult to think?

 _Okay, just push aside the fact that it's Gregory,_ Mycroft told himself. _If it were any other man, would he be flirting?_ Mycroft pursed his lips as he re-read the words over and over again before coming to the conclusion that yes, Gregory appeared to be flirting with him... _him_ , Mycroft Holmes!

Trying to ignore the way that thought made him want to smile stupidly, Mycroft took a deep breath. He had to be honest, right? But this could all blow up at any minute and Greg could come to hate him. Mycroft wasn't yet prepared to deal with that.

So he decided to ask for Gregory's advice. Maybe, when he received a reply, he'd be able to tell the truth and admit he'd been in love with the DI for years.

Mycroft's thumbs flew over the keys as he typed out his reply and when he was done he sent the text before he could talk himself out of it.

 

_Gregory,_

_Not a problem, you really are a fantastic police officer. Never doubt that and never let anyone let you think otherwise. If you ever need any help or another set of eyes, feel free to call me. I may not be as dramatic as Sherlock, but I'm smarter._

_You should never be ashamed of who you are, Gregory. I can see how it wouldn't come up in ordinary conversation, and I'm glad you decided to share that piece of yourself with me._

_That's fortunate. What is there to figure out, if you don't mind me asking? Surely a man as handsome as yourself would have no problem getting dates, or the attention of whatever man you fancy. Or is he straight?_

_Contrary to what Sherlock says, I don't know everything, and even I miss things about people. But yes, perhaps it was your stunning silver hair and charming smile; how can anyone look at anything else when you smile at them?_

_No, it's not a challenge; seriously, Gregory, clubs and me don't mix, I assure you. Nothing you could ever do or say would get me to set foot into a club._

_Easier said than done, I think. I'm not ashamed of who I am, or how I feel, but years at boarding schools, and later surrounded by men who are less than understanding, was enough to instill a sense of self-preservation. I'm finding it extremely difficult to just come out and say the actual words. I really do want to, but I'm not sure how, and my thoughts are frustrating me. I want to just be open and honest with him, but it's hard, and I don't know how to change that._

_\- M_

 

\--

 

Greg was halfway to the location of the killer’s home when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Donovan gave him an odd look as he quickly fumbled for it. He mentally groaned, sure he had another stupid grin on his face; he couldn't help himself where Mycroft was concerned.

Glad that he'd let Donovan drive, Greg scanned the text... and frowned.

Damnit, why was Mycroft avoiding it?! The anticipation was going to be the death of him for sure.

Ignoring Donovan’s attempts to read the text while she drove, Greg typed out a reply.

 

**Mycroft,**

**I’ll remember that for when Sherlock’s out of commission. The more modest Holmes, too.**

**The man tends to evade and shroud himself in a cloud of mystery. It certainly never gets boring.**

**Surely YOU don't have any trouble getting the man you want, Mycroft.**

**‘Tis a gift and a curse to have my hair.**

**Definitely a challenge, then. Looking forward to meeting it.**

**I can understand that. All it takes is for one ignorant ass and then no one will take you seriously ever again.**

**Just say it. I’m sure they’d appreciate the honesty.You’ll be fine, Mycroft.**

**-Greg**

 

Greg hit send a little more forcefully than he'd intended. Out of this whole thing, Greg was entirely sure of two things:

If he was wrong about Mycroft, he’d never recover...

... and he was definitely dragging Mycroft to a club come hell or high water. 

Donovan pulled up suddenly and killed the engine. Greg put his mobile on vibrate before stepping out of the car, quickly pushing all thoughts of Mycroft to the back of his mind.

 

\--

 

Mycroft sighed as he read Greg's newest text. He had it on good authority- from both hacking into Scotland Yard's computer system and watching via CCTV- that Gregory was out on a dangerous case. So that gave Mycroft a little time to prepare what he was going to type, as well as down three glasses of bourbon and hope his friend made it out alive.

 _Friend,_ he snorted to himself. God, with the way he was acting, Gregory would remain a friend forever. Or he'd get annoyed with the way Mycroft was skirting around the issue and just leave.

Mycroft wouldn't let that happen; he _couldn't_ let that happen. When he'd first met Greg it had been lust, plain and simple. That had turned into respect for the way the older man handled Sherlock. Later he admitted to himself that the man was a damn fine cop. And when years passed and they got to know each other, all that combined to become an aching need; a need to make Gregory Lestrade _his_.

Mycroft wasn't ashamed of being gay; he couldn't help who he was attracted to. It was who he was, built into him on a biological level. He had ginger hair, he was allergic to latex, he loved pickles, and he fancied men; nothing he could do about it, it was just who he was.

So why was it so hard to say, even in text format?

Because years at home with parents who wanted _normal_ children, and later boarding school, had made Mycroft draw into himself and hide who he was. The opposite had happened to Sherlock; the younger Holmes had lashed out and did everything in his power to showcase his differences.

Why couldn't Mycroft do that? Or, better yet, why couldn't he use his ample brain to say three little words; I. Am. Gay. Gregory had already admitted that he liked men too, so obviously he wouldn't be disgusted. And of course he'd more than hinted in his texts that he knew Mycroft was gay.

So why not just say it? Why not just admit what he'd been hiding since he'd hit puberty?

Mycroft sighed and leaned back on his couch. The television was on, showing some popular show that made Mycroft want to destroy every channel that wasn't the BBC. At least the BBC had Doctor Who.

Glancing at his BlackBerry again, Mycroft knew he couldn't ignore Gregory's questions or advice any longer. It would be easy, so easy to just type what he really felt.

 _But what if he runs?_ Mycroft thought. _What if you admit that you fancy him and he leaves?_

Mycroft groaned. Fancy? More like _loved._

Well, maybe he could just... admit that he was gay, and hint that he liked Greg. If Greg got it or hinted that he knew, Mycroft could outright admit it. If the DI wasn't interested than Mycroft could, hopefully, move on.

With that firmly set in his mind, Mycroft picked up his BlackBerry and typed out the text, eyes hard and lips pursed as he forced himself to press the keys.

 

_Gregory,_

_I'm always at your service; British Government, remember? And not once did I say I was modest, Gregory dear. Little Brother enjoys the theatrics; it's a defence mechanism of sorts. Plus he enjoys the baffled looks people throw his way. I, on the other hand, can solve anything with simple words._

_Hardly, Gregory. I'm a forty-three year-old balding man with a mysterious job and insane work hours; why would any man want me? Now you, on the other hand, are ridiculously gorgeous; has anyone ever told you that? Your hair makes you distinguished, your face has a boyish quality that is adorable, and the smiles you give, Gregory, the smiles... any man or woman could drown in your smiles._

_No, it's not a challenge! Don't make me take drastic measures, Gregory. I doubt even Scotland Yard's finest could get me into a club._

_Well, boarding schools and politics weren't the best environment for gay boys and later men to learn how to express themselves. I suppose I should be honest and just say it; yes, Gregory, I'm gay. Hmm, not as hard as I imagined it would be, but I suppose texting it and not saying it helps._

_I don't want to scare away the man I like. He's absolutely amazing, one of the most generous and kind-hearted men I know. He does everything in his power to take care of those around him, including wayward little brothers and ex-army doctors. He also puts up with annoying politicians butting into his life. How am I supposed to move from friendship to something more?_

_\- M_

_P.S. Be careful with that killer, yes? I'd hate to lose you now._

 

Mycroft re-read over his text and almost deleted the paragraph where he went into great detail about Gregory's looks. But he was trying to show how he felt about the DI and Greg was a smart man; hopefully he'd pick up on Mycroft's feelings and push a little harder.

Because Mycroft had found that when Gregory Lestrade asked, he was sure to answer.

So he sent the text and sat back, fingers itching to call Anthea and demand an update on Greg's case.

 

\--

 

Before entering the house, Greg’s phone buzzed twice. He quickly opened his phone. One text was from Sherlock stating that he was already inside and for Greg’s team to hurry it up and to get in as well. The second was from Mycroft.

Though he shouldn’t have, Greg couldn’t resist taking the time to read his text. And it made his heart soar. Mycroft _did_ fancy him! Though, the man seemed to have missed that Greg had dropped the hint that he fancied him back.

Greg looked up to see Donovan glaring at him. Swallowing thickly, he put his phone away. Right. The killer. Greg mentally shrugged. He could always text Mycroft back after.

 

\--

 

Mycroft sat in his office, staring at the laptop screen before him. He was supposed to be working. What he _was_ doing was worrying about Gregory, fingers constantly twitching towards his BlackBerry. He wanted to shout for Anthea and have his PA update him on Gregory's case.

Before he could do just that, there was a sharp knock on his office door and Anthea walked in, her mouth running a mile a minute.

'Sir, I thought you'd like to know immediately. Detective Inspector Lestrade has been shot while on his current case; he's at St Bart's. Shall I call the driver, sir?'

She stood still, phone poised, waiting for Mycroft to reply. When he didn’t, she walked closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

Mycroft was frozen, the words "Detective Inspector Lestrade has been shot" running around and around inside his head. When Anthea's hand descended on his shoulder he broke from the fog and blinked.

'Yes.... yes, call Joshua,' he said, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. Anthea nodded. 'And make arrangements for me to see him immediately,' Mycroft ordered when Anthea started tapping at her BlackBerry.

 

\--

 

The ride to St. Bart’s felt like the most nerve-wracking event Mycroft had ever experienced. He couldn’t think of an instance where he'd been this nervous, annoyed, and... scared. His own thoughts plagued him the entire time, questions spinning over and over in his head.

_Is Gregory alright? What if he dies? How will Sherlock react? How will I react?_

When he entered the building, Anthea by his side, his thoughts turned to more recent events; his and Gregory's texts, the coversations they'd been having via mobile phone. What if he'd lost his chance to tell Gregory the truth? What if this was it?

Luckily Anthea was in her right mind and the doctor assured her that Gregory would be absolutely fine after surgery. Anthea reassured her boss, who nodded vaguely, mind still churning.

_Did he read the text before he got shot? Does he feel the same way? What if he doesn't? He couldn't, who'd want the British Government as a lover, a partner?_

He was brought from his musings by a young nurse dressed in scrubs, her entire body language conveying her nerves as she stood before Mycroft and Anthea.

'Mycroft Holmes?' she asked nervously, glancing at Mycroft. Though he was sitting, and looked slightly terrified, Mycroft Holmes still had a presence about him that could scare even the most hardened soldiers.

'That's me,' Mycroft said, standing quickly and closing the distance between them, Anthea still beside him.

'Mr Lestrade's out of surgery,' the nurse informed him.

'Can I see him?' Mycroft asked.

The nurse nodded and said, 'Follow me.'

She led Mycroft down a hallway and to a room, Anthea a few steps behind. As he walked Mycroft mentally argued with himself on whether or not he should have come. He'd put everything else on hold- well, Anthea had- and rushed straight to see Gregory. Would Greg be okay with that? Would he _want_ to see Mycroft?

They reached Greg's room and the nurse stopped just outside the doorway, leaving Mycroft free to peer inside. He winced at the sight; Gregory Lestrade looked so small, his face slightly pale and hair all over the place. There were bandages wrapped tightly around his left shoulder and chest, his face was covered in purple and yellow bruises, there were cuts and-

Mycroft mentally shook himself and entered the room, leaving Anthea and the nurse outside. There were two chairs beside the far wall and Mycroft grabbed one, dragging it over to the right-side of the bed.

Greg opened his eyes slowly at the sound and Mycroft sat, trying to keep his breathing regular.

Greg gave him a soft smile. 'Sorry, Mycroft. Killer got the best of me.'

It took Mycroft a second, but then he realised Gregory was referring to the end of his text, when the politician had warned him to be careful about the killer. His heart rate skyrocketed. _He read the text! HE READ THE TEXT! He has to know, right? That means he knows!_

Mycroft took a deep breath and gave Greg a smile. 'I can see that,' he said, keeping his features schooled. 'Sometimes you're as bad as Sherlock.' He raised an eyebrow delicately and Greg's smile turned into a grin.

'Yeah, well,' Greg snickered, 'John's busy patching him up. Probably lecturing him, too.'

Mycroft chuckled softly. 'I have hopes that, with enough repetition, Sherlock might peraps learn basic instincts of self-preservation and defence instead of barreling in.'

Greg laughed loudly, and quickly winced when he pulled at his wounds. Mycroft reached out to steady him but Greg seemed fine, a grin still tugging at his lips.

'That'll be the day!' he snorted before quickly sobering. 'Speaking of defence,' he said softly, suddenly seeming smaller than he was. His eyes flicked to Mycroft's. 'In my text, when I said "man of mystery", I was talkin' 'bout the man I've got my eye on, not... not Sherlock.'

Mycroft stared at him, heart hammering in his chest. He remembered every text Greg had sent him. He remembered Greg referring to someone that "shrouds himself in a cloud of mystery". He'd assumed it was Sherlock Greg was referring to.

But wait.

_Wait._

It wasn't Sherlock.

So...

What?

'I see...' Mycroft said slowly, though he wasn't sure he _saw_ anything. Gregory wasn't... wasn't talking about _him_ , was he? 'Certainly you can still ensnare him, Gregory.'

Greg reached for Mycroft's hand and the politician suddenly found their fingers linked. Heat shot through his arm and he swallowed thickly, not daring to look Greg in the eye.

'I hope so,' Greg said softly. 'He's a stubborn, brilliant idiot who sees everything yet misses the way I've been pining for him. He's under the impression that he's not the most generous man I've ever been friends with and hopefully I can change that.'

He paused and wet his lips.

'You think I have a chance, Mycroft?' he asked.

 

\--

 

Greg waited patiently, not wanting to push Mycroft. His body was aching, the drugs not yet in affect. He could feel the bruises and cuts on his face, and his shoulder was absolutely _throbbing._

But none of that mattered. All Greg could focus on was Mycroft- Mycroft Holmes, sitting here, in his hospital room. He'd barely settled down in bed before Mycroft had walked in, and he couldn't stop smiling to himself.

Mycroft liked him, he was sure of it. Now he just had to get across that _he_ liked Mycroft too. That he wanted Mycroft here, now, in his life. And, hopefully, when he got out of the bloody hospital, they could go grab some dinner.

Mycroft still hadn't said anything and Greg gave his hand a squeeze. Mycroft squeezed back and his eyes flicked to Greg's, the bright blue irises filled with fear, worry, and love, all at once.

Yeah, Greg was sure of it; Mycroft totally wanted him.

Mycroft took a deep breath and brought their joined hands up, his other hand wrapping around them. Greg felt his heart skip a beat.

'Gregory... I feel I've let this go far too long,' Mycroft murmured, his eyes not leaving Greg's. His thumb was drawing circles on the back of Greg's hand and it sent a shiver of pleasure up the DI's spine. 'I should have been honest, I shouldn't have let you go into danger not knowing you were loved.'

'W-What?' Greg croaked.

Mycrot let go briefly to pick up the plastic cup sitting on the table beside the hospital bed. He brought it to Greg's lips and Greg sucked down the cool liquid through the small straw. Mycroft put the cup down and continued.

'Life is too short, yes?' he said and Greg found himself nodding. 'You and I, we're in danger every day,' he said. 'Life is too short to play with matters of the heart.'

'Um... okay,' Greg said.

'I'm gay, Gregory,' Mycroft announced.

'I know.'

The politician chuckled. 'I've spent far too long hiding who I am, fearing that I'll be hurt physically and emotionally for who I am. I don't want to hide any more.'

'So don't,' Greg said.

Mycroft smiled and brought their linked hands closer, and Greg gasped when the younger man's warm, soft lips pressed to his skin. 'When I sent that text, the proposal one,' Mycroft said, 'I didn't send it to you just because you were in my phonebook, Gregory. I sent it to you because... you're you.'

'O-Okay,' Greg stuttered.

Mycroft stood suddenly and Greg inhaled sharply as the tall man leaned over him, face suddenly in Greg's own. His blue eyes were roaming slowly over Greg's face and the DI's heart was thumping painfully fast, his thoughts on a loop. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._

Mycroft licked his lips slowly and Greg's eyes were drawn to them. He felt himself whimper, but he was too focused on Mycroft.

'The man I want, the man I _love_ ,' Mycroft breathed. 'Is funny, amazing, and one of the most dedicated, kind, patient men I have ever known. He knows how to handle any situation, how to make sure everybody around him is safe and happy. He does his best to care for each and every person he meets, even if they annoy him.

'He works hard for Scotland Yard,' Mycroft said, eyes locked on Greg's, 'and he lets insane younger brothers and doctors onto crime scenes, because he'd rather help people and solve the case than take all the credit for himself and move his career forward.

'He caught my eye six years ago and has held it ever since.' Mycroft smiled and his right hand came up, brushing Greg's hair back and cupping his cheek. 'I've never met anyone like him, and I know I'll never, ever lose interest, because he's the most fascinating, gorgeous man I've ever met.'

And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Greg's, the DI inhaling sharply before promptly melting. Mycroft's lips were warm and soft- so goddamn soft- that Greg felt himself drowning in him, in _Mycroft_ , in everything they could offer each other.

The kiss was far too chaste, Mycroft taking Gregory's injuries into account. Greg peeled his eyes open and knew he had a goofy grin on his face.

'I think you have the best chance in the world, Gregory,' Mycroft said with a soft smile. 'But the real question is; do _I_ have a chance?'

 

\--

 

Greg looked up at Mycroft and, with a sly grin, replied, 'Well, you’d certainly have to buy that man dinner first. It sounds like he has some standards.'

Then he grabbed Mycroft by his jacket and pulled him down for a proper kiss.

Mycroft couldn't help but groan and threaded his fingers through Greg's hair, tugging him that bit closer as their lips were crushed together. He felt Greg's tongue swipe along his bottom lip and opened up, groaning again when Greg's tongue plunged into his mouth.

Greg grunted in pleasure and pain. His shoulder was seriously aching, but Mycroft's lips and breath and that little flick of his tongue more than made up for _that_. He could feel Mycroft's manicured nails scraping against his scalp.

He twisted his own fingers in Mycroft's expensive shirt, not caring that he was wrinkling a suit that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Mycroft tilted his head to deepen the kiss further, and Greg lost track of time, they both did. All either could focus on was the other's warm, wet mouths, their tongues duelling for dominance before one came out victorious, the other retreating into the owener's mouth.

When the need for air finally became too great they broke apart. Greg was panting heavily and Mycroft was no better off. Greg grinned widely- and got a tingling in his groin- when he saw that Mycroft's lips were swollen and wet, his usually pale face pink and eyes glazed over.

He blinked rapidly and Greg giggled. 'I suppose I'll have to take you to dinner when you get out of here,' Mycroft murmured. 'Or I could stay.'

'As long as you order in food; hospital food sucks,' Greg hummed.

'Oh, I agree with you there,' Mycroft nodded.

'And we could maybe go to a club at some point,' Greg said slyly.

Mycroft groaned. 'Absolutely not, Gregory.'

Greg giggled and Mycroft sat back down but leaned close, so Greg kissed him again, not bothering to hide what he wanted. Mycroft had to do most of the moving and when their lips were almost pressed together, Greg said, 'I always wanted to do that.'

'Do what?' Mycroft asked.

'Kiss you,' Greg grinned. 'Gotta love a man in a suit. Very dashing.'

Mycroft's chuckle was cut off when Greg crushed their lips back together. And once again they were both lost.

 

\--

 

**_Lestrade,_ **

**_FINALLY! YOU ARE SO GODDAMN SLOW! FUCK, I ALMOST GRABBED YOU BY THE EAR AND DRAGGED YOU OVER TO MY BROTHER'S HOUSE! HOW CAN A DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BE SO OBLIVIOUS TO HOW SOMEONE FEELS? I HAVE HALF A MIND TO MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL BECAUSE OF HOW SLOW YOU ARE!_ **

**_But I won't because John said that's a "bit not good", and that there's a high chance I'll walk in on you and Mycroft naked. So I'll just leave it at a text._ **

**_By the way, Lestrade, don't hurt my brother, or I'll be forced to hurt you, understand?_ **

**_\- SH_ **

**_P.S. John said I have to congratulate you. I don't want to, so I'm not going to._ **

 

\--

 

**_Brother,_ **

**_Congratulations. I see you finally got over your fear of admitting you're gay. I'm glad, Mycroft. You're still an idiot, though. Even JOHN knew Lestrade was in love with you. Honestly, everyone around me is completely pathetic. Please note I'll be deleting this text afterwards so nobody can ever prove that I said anything even remotely nice to you._ **

**_\- S_ **

**_P.S. I'm happy for you._ **

 

\--

 

Greg,

Sorry, mate, I grabbed Sherlock's phone. And while he DID kinda say he was happy for you, he did it in that weird Sherlockian way where he manages to mostly insult you most of the time. Anyway, he's happy for you and Mycroft so... yeah.

I am too, mate. Good on you :)

\- John

 

\--

 

Mycroft,

Sorry about Sherlock, he can be a bitch. He's really happy for you and Greg and I am too. I've made sure he'll knock before turning up at Greg's just in case.

Congratulations again!

\- John

 

\--

 

**My, your brother's a weirdo.**

**\- G**

 

\--

 

_Yes, he is. And yet you still love me and are willing to marry me._

_\- M_

 

\--

 

**Yeah, I do. And yeah, I am. But I demand a proper proposal; lovely dinner, down on one knee, a ring, the whole nine yards!**

**\- G**

 

\--

 

_Yes, Gregory dear._

_\- M_

 

\--

 

**I've never been happier to get a random proposal text.**

**\- G**

 

\--

 

_And I've never been happier to get hyped up on painkillers and randomly propose to someone._

_\- M_

 

\--

 

**Love you x**

**\- G**

 

\--

 

_I love you too x_

_\- M_

 

{THE END}

 


End file.
